you, too, can rise
above a temptation. Why should I be the only one?"

But Hillyard did not answer. Sir Chichester's desire that he should have
a companion in sacrifice set a train of thought working in his mind. In
the hurry and horror of that morning something had been
forgotten--something of importance, something which perhaps, together
with the key locked away in the hall table, might set free Joan's feet
from the net in which they were entangled. He looked at his watch.

"Will you lend me your car, Harry, for a few hours?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"Then I'll go," said Martin. "I will be back this afternoon or evening,
Lady Splay." He went to the door, but was delayed by a box of Corona
cigars upon a small table. "I'll take one of your cigars, Sir
Chichester," he said drily.

"Anything in the house, of course, my boy," began the baronet
hospitably, and pulled himself up. "A very bad habit, Hillyard. You
disappoint me."

A trick of secrecy grows quickly upon men doing the work to which Martin
Hillyard had been assigned during the last two years. Nothing is easier
than to reach a frame of mind which drives you about with your finger to
your lips, whispering "Hush! hush!" over the veriest trifles. Hillyard
had not reached that point, but, like many other persons of his service,
he was on the way to it. He gave no information now to any one of his
purpose or destination, not even to Millie Splay, who came out with him
alone into the hall, yearning for some crumb of hope. All that he said
to her was:

"It is possible that I may be later than I think; but I shall certainly
be back to-night." And he drove off in Luttrell's powerful small car.

It was, in fact, ten o'clock when Hillyard returned to Rackham Park.
There was that in his manner which encouraged the inmates to hope some
way out had been discovered. Questions were poured upon him, and some
information given. The date of the inquest had been fixed for the next
Monday, and meanwhile no statement of any kind had been put before the
coroner. Jenny had not yielded by an inch. She would certainly tell her
story with all the convincing force behind it of her respectful quiet
manner and her love for her mistress.

"I have something to tell you," said Martin. "But I have had no dinner,
and am starving. I will tell you whilst I eat."

"Shall I fetch Joan down?" Millie Splay asked eagerly.

"Better to wait," said Martin. He imagined in what a fever of anxiet